


chocolate hearts from cvs

by gaygiggling



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Rejection, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, a scene about call me by your name, i'm sorry it was the only movie i could think of, just pretend armie hammer isn't a cannibal for like five minutes, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29220531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaygiggling/pseuds/gaygiggling
Summary: Dream spends every night on a Discord call with George. I mean, somebody was bound to catch feelings at some point, right?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 345





	chocolate hearts from cvs

**Author's Note:**

> hi its agora again. i literally churned this out in two hours because i had a lot of feelings today that i didn't want to talk to anyone about. i wanted to do another modern, realistic piece just because sometimes rejection just sucks like a bitch am i right LMAO anyway 
> 
> it's shitty it's messy and it's real. goodnight america

It started off honest enough.

They’re sitting on a Discord channel, talking mindlessly about everything and nothing that comes to the forefront of their minds. Dream has his feet propped up on the table, leaning back on his chair as George’s voice fills the hazy atmosphere.

“Do you think we’ll be doing this for a long time more?” George’s voice is curious, actively pondering on the prospect of growing up. “Like, we can’t be in our fifties still playing Minecraft.”

Dream hums. “I wanna say yes,” he says in earnest. “I can’t imagine myself doing anything other than this.”

The silence that floats between their call is comfortable. They both revel in it, quietly enjoying each other’s company. It’s been like that for months, maybe even years. Dream would call George and sit with him for hours, doing work separately, just making the occasional conversation. They both enjoy it; not having to commit any brain power, but just being in the presence of one another.

“The future kinda scares me,” George says. “There’s nothing in this life I live now I want to give up.”

Dream glances at the clock next to his monitor, spelling out 00:08. “Me neither,” he confesses. 

George clears his throat. “Whatever it is we do in the future, I hope I get to do it with you.” 

_What?_ He feels a small stirring in his chest, tingling in his fingers as George reclines back into casual conversations, not even stopping for a minute to let Dream register what he just said. He wants to say something, anything, but a thick lump stoppers in his throat, clogging his words on the way up.

 _I hope I get to do it with you too,_ he thinks, and delves straight into the next conversation George has already started.

* * *

It only builds from there. 

He tries to ignore it the first couple of days, thinking it was just some irrational feeling doctored by the fact they were all still in lockdown and he hadn’t seen a real person outside his family for months. _That’s just it,_ he qualms his worries, and goes on his way.

That’s not just it. 

He begins to shiver before every late night call with George, the tips of his fingers going numb as the Discord ringtone trills softly in his headset. He begins to watch what he says, for fear that even a simple joke could catapult into more, leaving him flustered and dusted pink. He begins to notice that words die in his throat the moment George turns on his facecam, lost as his eyes trail greedily over every freckle, the planes and angles of his cheekbones. 

He begins to notice George, really _notice_ him, for the first time.

And he fucking hates it. 

“What do you think?” He’s yanked out of his reverie as George’s voice comes through his headset. He looks up, trying to ignore the way his cheeks flush, and he watches as George raises his arms, flapping comically. The sleeves of his hoodie are gigantic on him, swallowing his thin arms and delicate wrists. 

“That’s- that’s my merch hoodie.” 

“Sure is,” George breaks into a grin, rippling through his face. “It’s so huge on me. Wanna see?”

Dream bites his tongue. “Yeah,” he barely manages to push out of his throat. 

George smiles brightly, tearing off his headset and running back to stand on his bed, making sure his whole body can be seen by the camera. “Look!” He raises his arms again, the black hoodie flowing graciously down to his knees. “It literally eats me whole,” he yells.

Dream can’t help the surprised laughter that bubbles in his throat, the thumping of his heart pacing faster as he trains his eyes on his best friend. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, voice laced with mirth. 

“Wait, hold that thought, I can’t hear you.” George yells again for the microphone to pick up. He runs back to the camera, settling his headset back on. Dream catches the way the cuffs of his sleeves cover his palms, folding in on themselves as he shifts the headset. His sternum aches shyly, small kinder beginning to ignite in his ribcage. “What did you say?”

“I said, you’re ridiculous,” Dream echoes, trying to shove all traces of affection out of his voice. “Why did you buy one so huge?”

“Everyone on TikTok’s doing it,” George giggles. Dream’s groin tightens. “You know, the whole oversized sweatshirt thing.”

Dream nods silently, drinking in the image of George standing there in his hoodie- not his hoodie, he reminds himself. _Though, I could pretend it was,_ he thinks for just a minute. _No, that’s fucking stupid._

“Dream? You there?” George’s voice cuts through his clouded mind, soft and sweet and delicate. 

“Yeah- yeah, I’m here,” he croaks, screwing his eyes tightly shut. He’s glad he opted out of turning on his webcam, or George would be able to see just the level of debauchery he’s dug himself into. “Sorry, my mom texted me,” he lies smoothly.

“That’s fine,” George says, not a trace of awkwardness or confusion in his voice. Dream breathes in slowly. _This is your best friend,_ he scolds himself. _Don’t fuck this up._

* * *

He can’t stop thinking about George. 

Dream realises now just how interconnected their lives are. Half the hoodies sitting in his closet are either George’s merch hoodies, or birthday and christmas presents he had sent to Dream’s house. They sent each other texts about everything and nothing, mindless memes and random happenings in their day.

He can’t go two feet into his day without thinking of him.

It’s a blessing and a curse. He’s no stranger to love- it hadn’t been long since he and his ex-girlfriend were together. His emotions have always been this strong, this reckless, this shameless. 

But now-

A text notification sounds from his phone. He brings it up to look at it. 

_George: Look. Cat’s sleeping on top of my keyboard._

_Dream: Guess we can count you out of today’s stream huh?_

_George: Yup. Tell Alex I’m sorry, this pussy demands my attention._

He guffaws, a blooming feeling in his chest.

But now things are different. This was his best friend- a boy he’s known for years. They’d come to each other about their girl problems, talked through their bad days, celebrated their good ones, cried together, laughed together.

He breathes in, the stinging pain of his lungs a sharp reminder of what he could lose; his biggest friendship, his one companion. His best friend. _Your soulmate_. 

“Fuck you,” he whispers to himself. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.” 

* * *

He begins to dream of him.

Darkness dissipates as he wakes, low lamplight flooding the room he lays in. He can hear somebody humming in behind him, and he cranes his neck to look at a place he’s never seen before.

“Hey!” he hears. George’s voice floods him with comfort, washing over his heart and drowning it beautifully. “You’re awake, finally.”

Dream looks around. He’s lying on a couch, bookshelves lining the walls, and a muted television running. It feels oddly familiar. It feels right.

“Hi,” he smiles at George. “Is that dinner?”

“Of course,” he says, skitting around the kitchen, tasting this, plating that. A low melody plays faintly from the stereo speakers, and George hums along.

Dream gets up, letting the blankets fall away as he shuffles slowly towards George. “Smells good.” He feels his arms move before he can stop them, wrapping around George’s slim waist and burying his cheek in the crook where his shoulder and neck met. “Thanks for cooking.”

“I cook every day,” George giggles. “How was your nap?”

“Good,” he says, sleep trimming the clarity of his voice. He starts to lose himself in this reality, this idyllic dreamland, where he gets to have and to hold George, feel his warmth pressed against him. “Would have been better with you.”

George laughs, a gentle rumbling Dream can feel against his chest. “Well, unlike you,” He lifts Dream’s gripping hands on his waist, turning so he could face him. “I had dinner to make.”

They lock gazes for a moment, and Dream watches as George’s brown eyes glow with a comfortable warmth, glittering with adoration that he reserved only for the boy standing in front of him. All resolve in him melts, and he leans forward slowly.

“Can I?” he asks, breath hot against George’s lips. 

“You don’t have to ask,” George whispers back, closing the gap between them.

The kiss is soft, gentle, warm. It burns small but steady in his sternum, melding their souls together. Their mouths arch together with glowing familiarity, yet Dream can’t quite remember where he’s felt it before. It’s full of love, growing admiration, and it feels right.

It feels like home. 

Here, swaying slightly as George leans into him, chasing the sweet vermouth of his kiss, he feels like he’s home.

Dream wakes up, and his heart hurts. 

* * *

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” George asks one day, as they’re sitting on their nightly call. Dream’s been editing the same clip for ten minutes, trying to get it just right, but somehow, he can’t find the right split of a second to cut it. The music sounds off. Discomfort eats at his hands, itching to be burnt alive. 

“A movie?” Dream mumbles, still distracted by his task. “What kind?”

“My sister keeps telling me to watch this one movie, and I thought I’d save it to watch it with you,” He hears George tapping at his keyboard. “Come on. You’ve been working on the same video all night, you need a break.”

“It goes up tomorrow, George,” He argues half-heartedly. Honestly, he wants to. He wants to drop the whole thing, take his laptop and bundle himself in his cocoon of blankets and pillows and just watch a stupid movie, only _sometimes_ glancing up at the little window where George would sit, eyes trained on the movie. 

“Please?” His voice is sweet, and Dream buckles at the knees. His eyes flutter shut.

“Fine.” 

George giggles. “Good. Because I already made the Netflix Party.”

A link comes through their Discord chat, a glaring invitation. Dream switches quickly to his laptop, carrying it down to his bed and clicking on the link.

“What are we watching?”

“ _Call Me by Your Name._ ”

Dream scours his brain for where he heard the title of that movie before, realisation trickling down slowly into his consciousness. 

He has to stop himself from saying, _That’s that gay movie!_

“My sister keeps talking about it. Keeps saying she’s sure I’ll like it. I don’t even know what it’s about, so I guess we’ll find out together.”

Dream shifts uncomfortably, a twitch in his groin sending chills down his legs. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ “Yeah, totally,” he huffs, placing his laptop atop a pillow in front of him.

The movie starts, the opening chords of _Hallelujah Junction_ the background music to the racing thoughts in Dream’s head. He wills himself to watch the movie, steadying his breathing as it begins. 

The first hour passes just fine. He hasn’t looked at George once, and he finds the plot strangely intriguing. He could hear George snicker at times, and he allows himself a soft smile. 

His heart beats itself to death in the confines of his ribcage. 

They watch in tentative silence as a romance blooms, as Elio kisses Oliver in the field. He’s almost sure he can hear George’s shallow breathing hitch as Elio swipes his tongue against Oliver’s lips, and he has to blink a couple of times to shove that image out of his mind. 

His hands shake, trying not to imagine him and George surrounded by miles of pasture, bikes abandoned with their shame at the bottom of the hill. He tries not to think about George’s face inches away from his, and god forbid he think about George licking his lips.

“ _Better now?_ ” He hears Oliver say.

_No. Worse, actually._

“You okay?” George asks, concern laced in his words.

Dream clears his throat, rubbing his temples. “Yeah, yeah. I’m okay.”

“Cool.”

The movie progresses, inching slowly towards Dream’s impending death. They watch as Elio tiptoes onto the balcony, window blown open. He glances out his own window, at the stars in his own sky, and wishes George could see too.

“ _I’m glad you came,_ ” Oliver whispers. “ _I thought you had changed your mind._ ”

Dream and George watch in silence as they collapse into the bedroom, and it clicks in Dream’s head what’s about to happen. He breathes in sharply, masking his pounding heart and his skittish mind under a cough. 

“ _You sure you want this?_ ” Oliver asks softly. Dream tries to focus on the way they’re speaking softly, no music accompanying them, like this was a moment that was reserved just for them, safe from the commercialisation of movie-making. A raw emotion, a licking flame. 

He wants to kiss George. 

Elio and Oliver collide, swaying slightly, lost in the gentle ferocity of their kiss. His heart aches to see himself in that parallel, to hold George in that way, to let him kiss his closed eyes, to mar his milky white skin. His eyes betray him, and flicker up to the little window.

George’s posture feigns disinterest, reclined back on his chair, but Dream sees the way his chest grows shallow with his racing breath. His cheeks are dusted pink, barely noticeable in the cursed quality of his webcam, but Dream could see it. He watched as the other boy drew his lower lip between his teeth.

 _Fuck._ Some wicked kind of adoration pooled low, simmering in his groin as it stirred to life. _No, no, no._

George’s eyes darted up from where it had been trained on Elio and Oliver’s passion, up to where Dream sat at the corner of his screen. Dream’s heart pounded, gaze never leaving George’s little window.

“What are you looking at?” George murmured.

Dream can’t speak. His voice falters, words rise and die on his tongue. He swallows thickly, training his eyes back down onto the movie. “Nothing,” he pushes out.

And it’s dropped. They go back to watching the movie in silence, the occasional joke or comment about the beautiful cinematography saving the call from being pulled under the thick ice of awkwardness.

The movie ends, soft melody carrying into Dream’s room, now far too cold and far too big. He doesn’t rise, doesn’t move from his spot, waiting for George to say something, anything.

“That was a good movie,” George says offhandedly, stifling a small yawn. “I can see why my sister wanted me to watch it.”

Dream hums in obligated agreement as he closes the tab, now back on Discord, watching as George does the same. “You off to bed now?” He asks, hoping the strain in his voice isn’t obvious.

“Yeah,” George glances sideways. “It’s almost 6. I should probably get going to bed.”

“Me too.”

They bid each other goodnight, pregnant tension prominent in the air. George waves, sleepiness coating his voice, eyes smiling as he presses the disconnect button. The little jingle alerts Dream to his aloneness, and he slumps back into his pillow, defeated.

“Holy fuck.” He says to nobody. “That was the most torturous two hours of my fucking life.”

He’s scared to unveil his boxers under the covers. He closes his eyes, hand reaching down, pressing against something criminally stiff it almost pains him. He sighs as his fingers skirt around the elastic band, daring to dip into shameless desire.

 _If you do this_ , a part of him thinks. _It changes everything._

His breaths escape past his lips in a shudder. _Fuck you,_ another part of him shoots back. _Everything’s already changed._

His hand feels cold against his stiff cock, and he gasps as he feels how much it throbbed. He gives it one slow, tantalising stroke, and almost cums on the spot. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, shoving his boxers down his hips, letting himself free. He’s so hard the head of his cock is turning purple, and he wants nothing more than to let himself go, fuck himself in his hand, come apart to the image of George’s sweet lips. 

He spits into his hand, slicking up his cock, pulling gently in a steady rhythm. He groans at the contact, at the pace, at the thought of George’s smaller, delicate hands being the ones chasing his orgasm. 

Dream’s eyes squeeze closed, lips parting helplessly. The lewd noise of his hand against his cock fills the room but he pays no mind to it, solely focused on how he’d let George push him way over the edge. Maybe George would sink to his knees, opening his mouth just wide enough for Dream to push in, eyes twinkling in mischief. “ _Fuck my mouth,_ ” George would say, and who was Dream to refuse?

His hand speeds up, drawing moans from his mouth as he loses himself in his imagination. He’s chasing his high now, bucking his hips as he fucks his hand, building steadily in the low of his abdomen. 

He imagines George on his knees, taking every inch of Dream like a good boy, letting him have his way with George’s throat. “Fuck!” he cries, teetering over the edge.

His orgasm washes over him, cum spluttering messily on his stomach as he cries out for George. The shame and guilt hit him hard now, as he releases his softening cock from his sticky hand. He breathes slowly, trying to steady his heart, calm the rushing course of his blood in his ears. 

He’s just jerked off to the thought of his best friend. His best friend of years, sleeping on the other side of the world, blissfully unaware of the air of debauchery and destruction that floated in Dream’s room. 

He cleans himself off with a discarded t-shirt, and forces himself to fall asleep.

* * *

Weeks pass and Dream doesn’t dare acknowledge what happened the night they watched _Call Me by Your Name_ together. Luckily for him, neither does George, so the night passes as if it never happened.

They’re sitting together on a call once again, this time flanked by Sapnap and Bad, watching as George speedruns through the night. Dream’s dazed, barely there as he watches the stream, trying his hardest not to fixate on the way George’s crewneck slips just enough to show his collarbones, the milky white expanse of his skin delicate and unmarked. 

“There! There’s a lava pool right there,” Sapnap yells, his voice cutting through Dream’s thoughts. There’s ruckus laughter and George mumbles, “Yeah, I saw that,” convincing a total of no one. 

He smiles. He wishes he could live in this forever, surrounded by his best friends, having fun in each other’s companies. No feelings to fuck up years-long friendship.

A donation tinkles in the stream, and he watches George glance to read it. “Thanks for the $10, Malory,” he says, smiling, before continuing to read. “ _I love you guys. I was just wondering how you are all doing?_ I’m doing very well today, Malory.”

“Yeah,” Bad chimes in. “I had a good day today.”

“I didn’t,” Sapnap says. “My Chick-fil-a guy forgot my sauce.” 

George snorts. “How about you, Dream?”

“Hm?” Dream sits up. “Oh. I’m okay.”

He watches as George frowns lightly. “You sure? You sound really out of it.”

Dream curses himself softly, making sure the microphone doesn’t pick it up. “Yeah, yeah. I think I’m just tired.”

“You should head off then. I know you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

That’s true. Dream had spent his whole night editing the newest manhunt video, driven by late-night jitters and George’s soft voice in his headset. They’d stayed up together, but George took all-nighters under his stride so much better than Dream did. 

“I’m okay. Plus,” he grins as he watches George miss a 4-block jump and fall to his death, the screen turning shamefully red. “I love watching you fail.”

The call erupted into laughter, shouting as George flushed red and a grin broke out across his face. “Stop!” He cried through his laughter. “That jump was impossible!”

“It was a four-block,” Sapnap yells. “I could do that in my sleep!”

“Oh yeah?” George’s voice raises to a challenge. “I’d like to see you try.”

They settle back into easy conversation as George resets and starts again, scouring his surroundings. Dream reclines back in his chair, picking at his nails as he watches his best friends bicker about nothing.

The donation chime jingles again, and George reads it out. “Thanks for the $20!” he says graciously. “ _Do you guys have plans for Valentine’s Day?_ Holy shit, I completely forgot that was happening!”

Dream’s heart twists sourly in his chest. He should ask George- even in a joking manner, he’d spend millions to bring that electric smile back on George’s face, see his cheeks flush pink. He bites his lip, waiting for the others to say something first.

“Well, George? Any hot girls you plan to take out as your Valentine?” Sapnap teases relentlessly. “I know I do.”

“Oh?” George laughs. “Well, chat, off you go to ruin Sapnap’s Valentine’s date.”

They laugh together, Bad chiming in something about Skeppy, and Dream wants to cut in.

This is fine, right? They joke about these things all the time, right? He leans into his mic and tries his voice. “How about it George? Be my Valentine?” 

Sapnap bursts into laughter, but George is silent. _Fuck._ Did he go too far? He watches the screen as George’s face turns incredulous, breaking out into a confused smile. Beside him, chat goes crazy.

“What?” He asks, snorting loudly. Dream almost collapsed from the comical tone in his voice, some sick sort of confidence pumping through his veins now. 

“Be my Valentine,” he continues. “We can sit over Discord on video call, eat dinner together, maybe watch _Call Me by Your Name_ again-”

He’s cut off by George’s laughter, his avatar going still as he threads his hands in his hair, his grin stupid big. “Shut up!” He yells lightheartedly. “I’ll be your Valentine if you just _shut up._ ” 

Dream smiles, only for him to see. “Good.” He says simply. “I’ll text you about it later.”

He glances at chat now, catching words as they whizz past too fast for him to really read. “ _Call Me by Your Name????!!!_ ” seems to be a popular one, along with, “ _A_ _gain???????_ ”

As he takes the backseat of the stream once again, his hands shake, the adrenaline numbing his fingertips. He hopes no one noticed the way his words were brought forth from the hearth of his ribcage, pooling in mirth and adoration and infatuation. 

It’s nice to see George flustered on screen, he decides. To see him blush, laugh so hard with his friends.

It’s nice.

 _Fuck._ He wishes he could just stop there. But his heart craves George’s, to leap out and sail through the air to hold him. 

It’s nice, but he wants more.

* * *

The stream ends hours later, and Sapnap and Bad bid their farewells before hopping off the call. They’re left alone, like they always are, in the idle of the whispering night, filled with honest secrets and soft melodies.

Dream speaks first. “I was serious,” he mumbles. “about the Valentine thing.”

George snorts. “What do you mean?”

“I want you to be my Valentine.”

“Yeah,” George replies offhandedly. “You joked about that on stream.”

Dream’s breath shudders. Why was George so dense? “I want you to be my Valentine. Not just as a joke.”

He watches as George stills. He blinks. Turns to the camera. “What?”

His heart is pounding, his head is screaming at him, _What are you doing? Abort! Abort!_ “I said I want you to be my Valentine.”

“The bit’s over. You don’t have to say that.”

Dream cards a shaking hand through his hair. “It’s not a bit.”

They stand in still silence for a moment as George listens to Dream. “Why are you saying this?” He’s confused now, incredulity trilling in his words.

_Fuck._

_Fuck._

_Fuck it._

“Because I like you.”

George looks at him. “No you don’t.”

Dream begins to get exasperated. “Wha- I do! I do like you, George. I-" Tears prick the back of his eyes, and he lowers his voice to a murmur. "I love you.”

His voice is strained, pressing on broken keys. “Don’t screw with me.”

“I’m not.” He pleads. “I think about you all the time, George. I cannot stop thinking about you.”

George stays silent.

“You said it, back then. _Whatever we do in the future, I hope we do it together._ And I want that too. I want to see you every day, walk with you. Wake up to you and make you breakfast.” He’s blabbering now, watching George’s expression turn unreadable. His stomach sinks, and he wants to be swallowed by guilt and shame and this blasphemous, godforsaken courage and never have to see George again. “I want to be with you, George, every day.”

George breathes in. George breathes out. George speaks. 

“I don’t understand.”

Dream opens his mouth to say something, but George beats him to it. 

“I meant that,” George closes his eyes, as if it pained him to continue. “as _friends._ That we’d stay in contact with one another, and we’d never lose this friendship.”

_As friends. As friends. As friends._

“Dream, I-” he pauses, swallowing thickly. “I never knew you felt like this.”

Dream laughs dryly. His head is pounding, and he feels like his chest has been sliced open. “We joked about it all the time on streams,” he murmurs. The dagger in his heart burns, twisting slowly as it cauterises the wound around it. It hurts, it hurts, it burns.

_Get it out of me._

“I just-” George’s head falls into his hands. “I don’t- Those were _jokes,_ weren’t they?”

“Not all of them,” Dream whispers in earnest honesty.

“Fuck.” George mutters. “Dream, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

All his breath leaves him in a sigh. Fuck him, fuck his irrationality. Fuck his brashness, his stupid shamelessness. Fuck his feelings, a roaring flame doused in kerosene extinguished, leaving nothing but ashes. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, readying himself for George’s words, the swing of the axe threatening to behead him. He presses a cold hand to his searing throat, choked up and painful.

A tear slips through the crack of his eyelids.

“I don’t feel that way about you.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, comments and criticism are always welcome down here. please let me know how you feel about it! <3
> 
> agora
> 
> the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3XUEQurYZVSZlzTmbwKZ1k?si=eAxj1YmmROa-0SJRr6ixyw) i listened to while writing


End file.
